A postcard that changed my life

I had come here after spending a long tiring day, taking a little over zillion pictures of snow covered tress.Russia in the 80s had dripped dull, in comparison to what I was anticipating.
As I walked around, I was easily recognized for my brown skin and big brown eyes. I followed my instincts and went up and talked to a boy, who looked just about my age. After managing him to explain him my purpose with the little Russian I knew, he told me that we had a perfect place for me.
I followed him to a student dormitory.They had put up a performance stage in the corner, and everybody in the room could manage to speak in English and on the stage, stood an rock band. I told them why I was here; I told them that this was the first time I was out of India.
That is the last thing I remember from that night, and next afternoon when I woke up, a few more leather suitcases were stacked next to mine. As I tried to shake my head stable, there stood three vague faces from last night, staring right at me.
They said, “Get ready, we are leaving in two hours”.
I reciprocated the stair and said, “But I just got here”.
To which a girl name Tina smiled and prompted, “Moscow is not where you should be to see the true Russia. we are helping your purpose of being here” almost in a symphony
I didn’t want to ask any more questions. I quickly got ready. We took the train for Moscow to Kazan.
As we left Moscow behind us, I could see the dust in the snow washing out with supremely. I had never before seen so much snow.
There was white ivory snow swirling along the wheels of the train. Tress and houses captured by the fair white blanket. It was everywhere, anywhere.
After we reached Kazan, I accompanied my friends to a local pub. People there were debating, intellectuals handing out pamphlets about the dying socialist Russia.
After finishing up, we went around seeing churches and mosques co-existing in harmony, joined protests on the street and towards the end of the day, got invited by a local for a nice home cooked Turkish meal. I was consumed order of events.
Later in the night, we left that place and while walking towards the bus station for our next stop, we met a joyous bunch of hippies going to the lake Baikal and we joined them.That night, I danced on the heavily Serbian lake, swam in the cold water and let myself join the momentum. And as I dried up, sipping my coffee by the bonfire, I knew that I was never leaving this place, not anytime soon.